


Deathly Wishes

by DisguisedasInnocent



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, F/F, Suicidal Thoughts, fuck jason rothenberg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-03
Updated: 2016-05-03
Packaged: 2018-06-06 06:10:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6742285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DisguisedasInnocent/pseuds/DisguisedasInnocent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke's mind is fractured, fragmented, and misshapen in the aftermath of Titus's <em>mistake</em>. It has latched onto her duty to her people without the driving emotional tug of her heart. But, it remembers Lexa in pieces, in chips, in bite-sized kernels of information (the most that it can handle).</p><p>
  <em>The woman's lips, pale pink and beautiful, tremble as she staggers forward--your arms reach out as if to catch her but you cannot grasp sunlight in your fingers--and she falls to the ground.</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Deathly Wishes

There's blood on your hands.

It's thick, dry, and embedded into the very crevices of your flesh. It is smeared into your fingerprints as if it aches to become a part of your constant existence. Its surface cracks when your fingers twitch, but it does not release its grasp on your skin.

You remember its source. You do not want to, but the images will not leave your mind.

There is a woman--dark haired and gorgeous--and a thunderous crack deafens your ears as her bright--bright, bright, bright--green eyes meet your gaze. (You cannot remember now whether your eyes are brown or blue, but you are sure that little detail doesn't matter, yet your mind catches on it constantly). The woman's lips, pale pink and beautiful, tremble as she staggers forward--your arms reach out as if to catch her but you cannot grasp sunlight in your fingers--and she falls to the ground.

The blood stains your fingertips black.

It is an oil on your skin. It is warm, wet, but not wonderful. It is darkness, but you do not remember why your heart shudders at the memory of it. 

You do not remember anything but the woman's green eyes, and the softness of her pink mouth.

There is blackness caught underneath your fingertips, behind your fingernails, beneath your flesh. You want to tear it out of your skin, you want to rip the pain away from the source, because surely the old--so old, dry and cracked, dead scabs left behind by another's wound--blood is the source of your pain. Surely it is the cause of your heart's constant ache, and your eyes continual burn. You want to scratch the blood away, to rip the scabs off your flesh, and tear into the wounds into your own blood runs free to cleanse the source of your pain.

You know that the black blood isn't your own blood. 

There's a memory caught in the back of your brain--ancient from the cobwebs that surround the thought--of crimson blood spilling down your forearm, ripped from a wound in your flesh, and you catch yourself wondering whether that pain will hide the memory of this pain. (Her body falls to the ground, tumbles and crashes, and your throat is raw as tears erupt from your eyes and her name spills from your lips). (No). (That pain will never eclipse this pain).

You itch to rub the blood away, to clean it out from underneath your fingernails, but it is your last connection to her (to her body, even though you hold her mind in your palm) and you cannot bring yourself to wipe her away.

"Clarke."

A man speaks your name, and you wrench your eyes away from the small kernel of data in your hand. (He does not deserve to see her).

"It's time.” The ocean laps at the edges of his voice, blurring it, but you do not lose yourself to the sound.

"Of course." Your voice is soft and low. It doesn't break. It doesn't crackle. It doesn't waver.

There's nothing left to crack, your heart broke with the final shudder of her chest, and your soul poured itself out into the chip in your palm. 

You have become Death.

(Perhaps Death can see her again).


End file.
